


Armadillo

by OneEyedDestroyer



Series: Beautiful, Languid, and Filthy-Gorgeous [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Early Brakebills, Eliot wants to help, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Margo is having feelings, Pre-Canon, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 18:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17772089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneEyedDestroyer/pseuds/OneEyedDestroyer
Summary: Armadilloar·ma·dil·lo/ˌärməˈdilō/nounLiterally meaning, "small armored one".A small animal with large claws and a soft underbelly, covered in an armor of large, bony plates.Some people are disgustingly good at compartmentalizing and holding back emotions, but hold back too long and your body decides when it needs to release.Margo's emotions sneak up on her at a cottage party and she retreats to try to deal with them without anyone noticing. When Eliot comes looking for her, she doesn't know how to handle the situation.





	Armadillo

**Author's Note:**

> I was in the mood for a little early Brakebills Margo learning how to be Vulnerable™️, so this is the result. I'll be honest, this one was an intensely personal writing process for me. I hope you guys enjoy it. 
> 
> Big ups to [ **Rae** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highestkingbambi) and [ **Vivi** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivi_Marius) for helping me out and editing this on such short notice. I truly appreciate it. I couldn't do it without you two and I feel like I don't express my gratitude enough. Thank you. <3
> 
> Special thanks to [ **lazarov**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarov/pseuds/lazarov) for help with the title!

She doesn’t know if she should be grateful or offended that no one noticed her slip away from the party, but she wasn’t about to let anyone see her like this. She’s been lying in bed for what has to be an hour now, face stained with the only two streams of emotion her body will allow her to release, aching to just—a third pathetic stream of emotion slides down her face—let it all go.

 

Crying is complicated for her.

 

All the emotion wells up from somewhere deep within her, rapidly boiling until it rises to the surface, just beneath her skin. She always expects to sob enough to flood the room, but she never cries more tears than she has fingers on one hand. The overwhelming rush of emotions fizzles out just as quickly as it boils over, leaving her feeling drained and unresolved—wishing she could just cry it all out at once and not have it sneak up on her at the worst fucking moments.

 

“There you are,” she flinches at the sound of Eliot’s voice; she didn’t hear the door crack. “Haven’t seen you all night.” The concern in his voice is irritatingly sincere. She sighs, the feeling is dangerously close to relief; were she not so goddamn proud it might even be approaching comfort. Anyone else might smile, but she continues to lie there, stonefaced. Forcing herself to roll over and face him, she sighs again. To be fair, if anyone was going to come looking for her, it would be him. She’s almost okay with that; she’s starting to really regard him as a friend. Can’t remember the last time she had one of those. “I was starting to worry,” he says, slowly approaching her on the bed. “May I have a seat?”

 

Margo pushes herself out of the false comfort of her blankets, slowly rebuilding herself from the heap she dissolved into. To answer his question, she nods, looking at his face, but not yet meeting his eyes. They sit in silence, neither one sure of how to proceed. Eliot’s face is soft, but she catches the shock that flickers through his eyes. He sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to crowd her. Everything in him wants to reach out and offer a comforting touch to console her, but he’s unsure of what she wants or needs in moments like this. He’s never seen her like this before. No one has.  

 

Once Margo is properly upright, Eliot takes a hard look at her. Seeing her hunched up on the bed in a dark room is concerning enough, but her weary, tearstained face is truly disarming. “Are you crying?” he asks. He’s slightly worried he may upset her for asking, but his concern outweighs his fear of her wrath. It’s doubtful she’ll be able to summon it anyway. Margo turns her head away, just enough to keep his face out of her line of sight. There is nothing she hates more than being seen in a moment of weakness. She wraps her arms around her torso, more self-conscious than self-soothing, though neither is ideal. Eliot can’t help but smile at her, he’s never noticed just how fucking small she is. He scoots closer, testing the waters; she doesn’t withdraw. “I was starting to think you were all stone under there,” he says with a laugh. Despite his best efforts, he can’t hide how endeared he is at her attempt to appear unshakable, even now.

 

Margo twists her face into a grimace, offended. Though, at what exactly, she isn’t sure. “Do us both a favor and keep thinking that,” she snaps. As soon as the words leave her mouth, Margo finds herself feeling something she hasn’t felt in a long time.

 

Regret.

 

“Bambi,” Eliot sighs, his voice just as stern as it is soft. If he has anything, it’s a horrifyingly intimate knowledge of the behavior of something wounded and afraid. He places his hand on her knee, hoping she will take comfort in the soft stroke of his thumb.

 

The use of that nickname makes her feel uncomfortably vulnerable. Closing her eyes tight, Margo sighs, fighting with herself to relax into the touch. _This_ isn’t easy for her. She turns her head to face him but doesn’t open her eyes just yet. None of this is easy, and even less of it is desired. “Look, I’m not crying, okay,” she lies, voice convincingly steady. She’s not sure if that means she won or lost her internal battle.

  
Not wanting to push her, Eliot nods and slides closer until his leg is flush against hers. “Is it okay if I hold you while you’re not crying?” he asks, trying not to laugh. He’s being playful with her, but he doesn’t want her to think she’s being laughed at. The goal is to get her to trust him with this.

 

“I don’t need to be held,” she says, wiping some tears away before folding her arms tight across her chest in an act of defense.

 

Eliot watches as her fingers fidget and drum in the crook of her elbow. He doubts she’s aware of the fact that she keeps increasing her grip around herself. “You know, I actually believe you,” it’s his turn to lie. Though, to be fair, maybe she doesn’t need to be held, but she could certainly benefit from it. “But look at it this way. You deserve to be held. It is the height of luxury,” he says with a dramatic sweeping gesture of his hand.

 

Margo laughs, she doesn’t know how he always manages to get a genuine response out of her. “Only you can make my ugly sobbing sound fabulous.” Eliot smiles, pleased to see her warming up to him. Margo has taught him so much about being powerful. Maybe he can pay her back by showing her the value of selective vulnerability.  


With a deep sigh, Margo lies back down. Grabbing the thick down comforter, she pats the bed, inviting Eliot to lie next to her. Go big, or go home, right? Eliot kicks off his shoes and slides into bed, wrapping a safe arm around her tiny frame. She stiffens at the touch, but takes a deep breath, willing herself to relax. They’ve made a habit of being pretty affectionate, this time shouldn’t be any different, but it is. It is different. This time she’s coming apart at the seams and she has never allowed anyone to witness that before. She doesn’t know how to do this.

Once settled beneath the heavy down comforter, Eliot pulls Margo closer. She finds herself both surprisingly comfortable resting her head on his chest and relieved that he can’t see her face anymore. Something in her aches to be pulled closer still, gripped tight, so she can disappear into his arms, but she sneers, dismissing the moment of temporary weakness.

 

“I don’t know what happened,” Eliot whispers above her head; she is so unbelievably small. “But I’m sorry you’re feeling so much.”

 

“I’m no—” she starts but is quickly cut off by Eliot hugging her tighter, and rubbing soft circles along her arm with his thumb. Curse the bastard for practically reading her mind.  

 

“Look at me,” he says, hoping his tone conveys his words as more of a request than a demand. Margo groans, not wanting to withdraw from the warmth of his chest just yet. She leans her head back, shifting just enough to meet his eyes while maintaining as much contact as possible. “You, Margo,” he says, “are fabulous. Even with a face of running mascara and deep wounds I won’t pretend to know how to heal.” With a bitter laugh, she nuzzles back into Eliot’s chest, her hands clasped tight around each other, pressing into her chest as he pulls her close.

 

“I didn’t come here to make you talk about it,” he says, keeping his voice low. “When was the last time I ever talked about my shit?” She smiles against him. “Hypocrisy is not a good look on me.” His laugh is soft, but it rumbles in his chest, lightly shaking Margo. The disruption is surprisingly soothing. “We can just sit here.” The offer is incredibly appealing. She isn’t ready to talk about any of this, but she isn’t ready for Eliot to leave either. She closes her eyes and releases a heavy sigh. Eliot begins to stroke her back in slow sweeping motions. He hums softly. The melody escapes her, but it sounds like an old jazz standard. She hates to admit it, but she could get used to this.  

 

The soft, rhythmic thrumming of his heart grows louder with each passing beat. Eliot’s voice grows further and further away. Margo allows herself to release that last bit of tension she was refusing to give up. A quiet hum falls from her lips as she drifts closer to sleep. She can worry about hating herself for this later.

 

***

 

Painfully bright sunlight spills into the room through sheer curtains, drowning out the dim warm glow of the lamp left on after they dozed off. Eliot stirs, squeezing his eyes shut in protest. A heavy ache pounds through his head that he is desperate to be rid of. He blinks a few times, attempting to reintroduce a little moisture. Taking in his surroundings he’s confused for a brief moment; he must’ve fallen asleep holding Margo. Regaining awareness of the rest of his body, he feels the soft, steady breathing of Margo against him. She stirs, and he worries he woke her. The arm that must’ve found its way around his waist last night wraps tighter around him and she nuzzles into his chest with a soft sigh. Her legs are entangled with his, trapping them both in place. What a surprise; he never would have guessed Margo Hanson is a cuddler.

 

“I didn’t take you for the cuddly type,” he says softly, gently nudging her fully awake.  
  
Margo groans, offended, but she isn’t ready to pull away. He’s so goddamn warm. “I’m not,” she croaks, her bitter inflection dramatically enhanced by the fact that her voice is still claimed by sleep.  


“You’re cuddling me harder than that clingy date I had last week,” Eliot says. There’s a smile in his voice, but Margo fails to see the humor here. “I had to kick him out of my room.”  
  
Margo yanks her arm from around Eliot, quickly sliding away from the warmth of his body. Fuck you too. She starts to sit up, but Eliot reaches for her, catching her by the arm before she can get too far. Laughing softly, he tugs her arm just enough to pull her back into his grasp.

  
“It’s okay,” he says, pulling her close. His skin is still so warm, Margo can’t help but nuzzle into his neck with a sigh. “Cuddling is nice,” he reassures her with a soft kiss on her forehead. “And I know how hard it can be to find someone worth doing it with.”


End file.
